


what's in a name

by PinkHydrangea



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: ?? to a degree??, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:03:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkHydrangea/pseuds/PinkHydrangea
Summary: Zeke struggles to adjust to the social customs in Rigel, and stresses over them even more when they bleed into his relationship.





	what's in a name

**Author's Note:**

> SOME BACKGROUND BEFORE YOU READ THE FIC just so it makes more sense: 
> 
> Rigel is pretty blatantly based on Russia/Eastern Europe (some examples: Rinea's name is Ukrainian, Berkut's name is the word for "golden eagle," which is the symbol of a lot of eastern European countries, Tatiana was the name of one of the last Grand Duchesses of Imperial Russia, Zeke has golden eagle motifs in his clothes, etc.), and my best friend is Russian-American, so she started telling me about something they have called diminutive names, which are basically shortened versions of names based upon relationship statuses. 
> 
> so like as soon as i learned about it I HAD TO WRITE ABT ZEKE GIVING TATIANA A CUTE DIMINUTIVE NAME BC HE LOVES HER VERY MUCH AND WANTS TO BE MUSHY W/ HER BUT HE'S REALLY UNUSED TO RIGELIAN CUSTOMS, but that's okay because all the villagers love General Ezekiel and are willing to give him culture/history lessons whenever he needs them
> 
> anyway now i can't stop thinking abt Rigel as eastern European and i love that good aesthetic and the cute names

Zeke’s familiarity with the Rigelian culture is basic. Simple. He knows military rankings, political titles, and statuses, mostly. He has to rely on Tatiana sometimes if he needs advice on certain manners or customs, or traditions that he isn’t familiar with. He knows a little bit about how the clothing works, and what some in fashions are, but Rigel seems to be very foreign compared to… wherever it is that he’s from.

Zeke imagines that social customs were probably never his strong suit anyways.

It’s his lack of knowledge that makes it particularly confusing when he hears an older cleric at the church call Tatiana by something that isn’t, well, her name.

He comes by to get Tatiana from the church, and walks in while they’re organizing the infirmary. It’s a familiar place to Zeke, and he can remember the exact spot in the room where she was standing when he first opened his eyes and saw her. He watches from the doorway while the clerics bustle about, and Tatiana approaches one, holding out her hands and offering to take a bundle of sheets from her.

“I can take those,” she says softly. “Why not go take a rest?”

“Oh, Tanya.” The cleric hands her the mass of linens. “Thank you.”

It confuses him, but the old cleric is gone, and Tatiana has vanished into another room before he can ask about it. Instead, he questions one of the stablehands about it later.

“She called her ‘Tanya,’” he says, and he watches his horse graze peacefully. “That’s not her name.”

The stablehand is chewing a stalk of wheat, keeping a careful eye on the horses, and he gives Zeke a slightly puzzled look. “Well, 'course it is.”

Zeke stares back, still baffled. “It… is?”

The young man gives him a sidelong glance. “Oh. Maybe they don’t have diminutive names where you’re from.”

“I fear I’ve never heard of the concept, so that’s safe to assume. What are they?”

He waves the wheat stalk in the air. “Guess the most simple way to explain ‘em would be to say that Rigelian names have different forms, kinda depending on how close you are to a person. Sort of a way to show familiarity, y’know? Like, Tatiana’s name is Tatiana, in a normal or formal setting. In more casual settings, she’s got others.” He sticks the stalk back in his mouth. “Your name is foreign, so you don’t have any, but Tatiana’s a really Rigelian name."

“So, calling her Tanya indicates a degree of familiarity?”

“Sure. Lots of the older clerics in the church raised Tatiana as their own, so it’s only natural that they’d call her that.”

Zeke pauses, staring out at the grazing horses, then looks back to the stablehand. “Would I call her Tanya?”

He laughs. “You two sleep in the same bed, General. You could go a little beyond ‘Tanya,’ if you really wanted to. If you don’t, sure ain't no big deal.”

“What are some other names?” he asks. “Just for, er, the sake of cultural education?”

The stablehand gives him an amused look, cheek in hand as he nibbles his stalk. “For the sake of cultural education, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Right, right, okay.” He leans against the fence and looks up at the sky. “Hm. Tatiana’s name isn’t particularly common, so the ones I can remember off the top of my head are Tanusha, Tatsuya, maybe Tanyusya?”

“And any of those names would indicate…?”

“That you’re a couple. Close family, y’know? They’re kinda like cute pet names.” The stablehand nervously scratches at his neck. “Honestly, I can’t see you usin’ them at all. You’re such a formal guy. No offense, I mean. Sometimes bein’ formal is nice, right? Makes people respect you more.”

Zeke is formal, he admits, but he doesn’t necessarily want to be that way with Tatiana. He does his best to loosen up, be relaxed around her, but something in the back of his mind always tells him shoulders back, head up, cold gaze. It’s almost an instinct, something ingrained inside of him.

“Tanyusya,” he mutters, and he looks up when the stablehand lets out a choked laugh. “What is so amusing, sir?”

“Nothin’, nothin’, sir. It’s just, you’re definitely a foreigner. You say it a little off.” He gestures to his throat. “Rigelian dialect means you speak from here. You just don’t talk like a Rigelian, that’s all.

“I speak just fine,” Zeke protests, and then he pauses. “You know, Tatiana was the one who shortened my name from ‘Ezekiel’ to ‘Zeke,’ and she’s the only one who refers to me that way.”

The stablehand shrugs. “Guess she might’ve just been trying to give you a diminutive of your own, since you don’t have one. Probably just came up with it on a whim.”

It’s unbearably cute to think of her saying his name now, and he buries his face in a hand. "That's- that's very cute."

“Easy, General. Don’t have a stroke on me.”

* * *

“Tanyukha,” Zeke mutters, and he flips through the book he has on his desk.

The library at the military base is filled with mostly reports, strategy books, war guides, yet he did manage to find a small book on Rigelian names and the culture surrounding them. It’s so small that it’s closer to a pamphlet, but it’s still full of information on given names, patronymic names, diminutives, situations of when to use what—it has his head spinning.

He grumbles and taps his pen against the wood. “This is just-”

“General.” A couple of soldiers walk up from behind him, and Zeke slams the book shut. “What’re you up to, sir?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be training?” he snaps.

Both of them, an archer and a paladin, raise their arms in defense. “We were. We got the bruises to prove it, too. Why so short today, General?”

He frowns and turns back to the book, opening it back up and revealing the information to them. “In your culture, it’s common to use these diminutive names based on your relationship with a person, correct? I was told so the other day.”

“Sure. I call my wife Irina ‘Irusya,’” says the archer. “Pretty common.”

“Is this about your girl, General Ezekiel?” The paladin has a coy smile on her face. “Trying to be smooth with her, huh?”

“Mind your tongues,” Zeke warns them, and they immediately snap into more professional positions and formal speaking.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” the paladin says.

The archer gives the book a long glance, then looks back at Zeke. “You know, don’t worry about it so hard, sir. If Sister Tatiana really cared, she’d have asked you to call her something by now.”

He lifts a pen and taps it dully against the desk. “She gave me a name. I’d like to call her one in turn.”

“I like Tanusha,” the paladin suggests. “It’s a little less mushy and affectionate. Just right for you, sir.”

Zeke mutters it under his breath. “Am I saying it correctly?”

The archer makes a vague so-so gesture with his hand. “Better than a total foreigner, I suppose. Your dialect is very Archanean.”

“You think so?” Zeke asks.

“I’m sorry if I offend,” he apologizes. “Your tongue is just smoother, and you speak a little bit faster. I’ve been to Archanea a few times, and that’s how the people there talk.”

“I see. So you think I sound Archanean as well.” He scrawls something on a paper, then waves a hand. “Don’t bother me. Go do something productive with your time.”

They leave him, and he sits at his desk for another hour before deciding to pack up and head home. Jerome hasn’t so much as looked at him and has given him no work to do; not even a single report to fill out. He takes the book with him, figuring no one will really miss it so long as he brings it back soon, and he reads through it more as he travels across the moors. He doesn’t read on horseback that much, and while it’s a little annoying how the words jump around with every movement, he adjusts.

By the time he gets back to the village, he still hasn’t come up with anything. He sets his horse up in the stables and takes the book with him, still poring over the pages and trying to make sense of it.

“You’re home so early,” Tatiana says when he walks through the door. Her arms are full of a freshly-laundered quilt, and he watches nervously to make sure the ends of it aren’t trailing on the floor for her to trip over. “Wasn’t expecting you for another couple'a hours, sweetie.”

He sets the book on a table and pulls off his coat. “It was an uneventful day. Jerome hardly glanced my way, much less gave me any work to do.”

“He’s just jealous that you’ll show him up and take his position,” Tatiana says, as she always does. “You’re lucky you got home when you did. I juuust finished the laundry, so you don’t have to help.”

“I count my blessings every day,” he says. “I’m going to do some reading at the table, if that’s alright.”

“Sure. I can get dinner started, if you want.”

“That would be lovely. Let me know if you need help.”

Zeke opens the book on the table and taps his pen against the paper, scrawling notes occasionally. It’s a fascinating subject, the more he comes to understand it, but he still can’t make head-nor-tails of what he thinks would be appropriate to call Tatiana. He feels embarrassed more than once, stressing over such a thing, but he wants to do it. He wants to have something affectionate to call her. He thinks it might be… nice.

Five minutes later, he comes across something that he likes. He mumbles it under his breath a few times, cringing at the possibility of saying it completely wrong and having her laugh at him, but figures that if her bell-like laughter is the worst thing that comes of it, it’ll be fine.

He shuts the book and sets it aside, moving towards the counter and nervously hovering behind Tatiana as she mixes something on the stove. “Do you need any help?”

She hums and glances around, giving it a good long thought, and then gestures to a fillet of fish nearby. “You could skin that. Try not to cut yourself again, though.”

Zeke burns a little. “Don’t bring that up.”

She laughs. “You’re so expert with a blade in battle, but one would think you’d never ever seen a kitchen knife in your entire life. Let me know if you need some guidance, love.”

Zeke grumbles and mutters as he sets the fillet on a cutting board. The knives are on the other side of Tatiana, and he takes a deep breath. He feels silly, working up courage to say something so small and silly, but he supposes that something like this, for him, is a little out of his comfort zone. It’s okay to feel a little shy. He holds out a hand, sucks in a breath, and asks, politely, “Tanechka, could you hand me a knife?”

She doesn’t respond at first, mindlessly reaching over to find the right one, and then pauses. She looks at him, her nose scrunched in a confusion. “‘Tanechka?’”

He flushes immediately and goes on a short ramble. “I-I thought you might like it. I like it. Tanechka. It’s diminutive of your name, right? It’s meant to sound cute.” When she still looks at him a little blankly, he sighs. “I won’t say it again. I’m sorry.”

Tatiana leaves her pot on the stove and steps towards him, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down towards her. She kisses him softly, just barely brushing their lips together, and then lets him go to laugh.

“Call me it more!” she implores with a smile as she pulls him down again. “You’re so cute! Nobody’s ever called me something so sweet in my whole life.”

Zeke can hardly breathe as she drowns him in another kiss, and laughs a little as she tries to attack him, even after he turns his head away. “Tanechka.”

“Oh, you’re even butchering it a little—how adorable!”

“Am I?” He groans. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just listen to how I say it. Tah-nee-ch-ka.”

“That’s how I’m saying it!”

“No, you say it ‘Tah-nee-sh-ka.’ You’re just messing up the end part.” Tatiana smiles and brushes her lips against his again. “Call me it again?”

Carefully, he tries to say it the way she does, even though he thinks he’s saying it just the same as her. Zeke pulls back and brushes his lips along her jaw, settling his hands just so on her hips. “Tanechka.”

Her laugh goes from delighted to nervous. “O-oh, come on.”

“Let me say it until I get it right,” he insists. He moves back to her lips, pressing kisses against them and occasionally pulling back to mutter, “Tanechka.”

“Where did you hear that name?” she asks quietly between another kiss.

“Just in the book I was reading.” Zeke cups her face and kisses her forehead. “It seemed like the best one. It sounded like you.”

“You found it in a book?” She laughs breathlessly. “How like you!”

He burns a little at her laugh and dips his face to her neck, slightly nipping at her skin there. He enjoys the way she squeaks and pushes her hands against his shoulder blades. “Tanechka is nice, but I like Tatiana as well. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect for you.”

“Stop it, you smooth-talker,” she protests. “No more false flattery outta you.”

“It’s not false flattery,” he defends. He tilts her face up towards him. “I do like your name. It’s very elegant.”

She stifles a laugh. “Very unfitting for me, then. I mean, today, I tripped on a broom and fell down the stairs, and-”

“You what?” Zeke puts his hands on her biceps and holds her away at arms-length, looking her body up and down. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, no no no no!” Tatiana waves a hand. “It was only four stairs! Just four. I almost broke a vase, but it was fine.”

He sighs and lets go of her. “That’s four stairs too many, Tanechka. Be more careful.”

“Geez, I am careful.” She pouts a little and fiddles with an end of her hair. “I’m not as klutzy as you think I am, you know.”

Zeke glances over her shoulder, then back at her. “Whatever you have on the stove is boiling over.”

She turns pink in a second, then whirls around and attempts to remedy the situation. “This is your fault, not mine!”

“My fault?” he repeats incredulously.

“You can’t come in here and call me something cute while I’m cooking. It’s distracting. If dinner is ruined, it’s all your fault!”

“Fine. I won’t call you Tanechka anymore.”

“N-no, I don’t want that! It’s so _cute_ when you say it.”

He sighs as he watches her desperately try to fix the contents of the pot and gets the almost-forgotten knife himself. He mutters “Tanechka” to himself the entire time he cooks next to her, trying to get it to sound just right.


End file.
